Borussia
by Bambily1996
Summary: [1750'sHistory!AU, PruHun] Gilbert, the young prince of Prussia, is forced into marriage after countless years of failed education. But the stubborn boy refuses to bend his will, because he fell in love with his childhood friend Eli. Although he does anything to stay with her, destiny always rips them apart. But as war comes closer, loving her becomes sacrificing more and more.
1. Historical Overview

**I own nothing**

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**Foreword**

**The Austrian War of Succession**

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At times, as in Austria religious minorities were being persecuted, in France the decadence of the court ruined the whole country, in Spain the Inquisition was still dominating, in England the enslavement of the Irish and Scots peaked and in Poland the corruption and selfishness the noble caste made the country a shattered one- at these times Prussia managed to abolish the torture and develop religious tolerance, scholar education and neutral jurisdiction.

And of course, Prussia, the always fighting country, also used its efficient army.

1740: The death of Charles VI Habsburg; his daughter Maria Theresia takes over the government. In order to ensure his inheritance rights on Silesia, the Prussian king, Frederick II, invaded Austrian territory without waiting for negotiations.

In the following first Silesian War he defended his right stubbornly, together with his steady allies France and Spain. So that after countless defeats Maria Theresa was forced to make peace in 1742.

The whole of Silesia passed into the ownership of Prussia, with the exception of some southern outskirts. This area was called Austrian-Silesia.

However, Frederick II had underestimated the vigor of Maria Theresa. Another confrontation followed.

But even the second Silesian War brought no change of possession and territory, only losses for Austria.

1747 the threat of Russian intervention forced Prussia to retreat.

Ceasefire: The armies wait for the final command of the king.

Attack or retreat?

* * *

**Author Note**

_I wish you a wonderful wednesday evening, dear Fanfictioners!_

_A thanks to everyone who read or scrolled through this._  
_Since this text plays in an history!AU, I thought some overview over 1740's europe wouldn't harm. It's the translation of my fanfiction that I already wrote in German(link on my profile). Right now it counts 77.000 worde and it keeps going. I'll try to translate as fast as I can, but I can't promise no mistakes. If you see some grammar fails, please message me._

_I do my best to research and keep myself informed about this time as much as possible. So the historical characters won't be fucked up in their personalities._

_Although I had to make them 15 years older than they actually were. For the storyline:/_

_I cannot promise that all Hetaliacharacters will be 100% Hima. But I was diving in the wiki to learn as much about them as possible. I think they will be in their characters most of the time but as the story goes on there could be slight differences, because they are just human. They were educated and grew up in that century so I warn you. There will be no " I'm awesome!" screaming Prussia. Or a n angry frying-panning Hungary._

_This story will have a lot of characters and various pairings in it. It was THE century of arranged marriage. But I ain't gonna spoil:D_

_'naff talking!_

_Reviews are always welcome!_

_Have a nice day! Be reading youuu~_

_Bambily1996_


	2. Prologue

_I own nothing except the plot_

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**Prologue**

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**Prussia, Silesia, 28 August 1747**

Despite the tense between the two belligerent countries, the population of Silesia remains surprisingly calm after the Austrian troops have forced the Prussians to retreat.

Instead of making themselves crazy, they just go after their usual work, tattle with each other through their windows and toil with their everyday worries. Meanwhile, the gunpowder smell has vanished within the warm late summer air, and the people can be heard laughing again.

The long-awaited silence is as nowhere as evident as in the dense forest, in the east of the small town Neudeck[1].

The overgrown forest is lit by faint rays of the sun pushing through the trees' already brown roofs. Emerald green moss shimmers at the ground; freshly fallen leaves spread their musty smell through the underwood.

Fall announces itself earlier this year.

Nothing can be heard except the slight stream that leads right into the big overgrown lake.

A rabbit jumps out of its den. It leaps forward a few times and keeps its ears strained into the air, before it settles on a small meadow between two thick oak trees. It stands on its haunches to gnaw at the year's last blackberries.

That's what he has been waiting for.

With a loud roar, the boy rushes out of his hideout behind one of the roots and throws himself on the rabbit.

Terrified the little creature hops into the air and escapes quickly, so the boy's face lands right in the sludgy forest earth. When he looks up the small animal disappears between prickly branches of bramble.

Frustrated the little hunter growls and pushes himself with his hands off the ground, leans against one old tree.

He makes himself comfortable on the soft bed of moss that is still wet from the past morning rain, then he wipes down the old leaves and the mud in his face with the sleeve of his bright white linen shirt.

"Damn ...! This stupid thing ... „ the boy exclaims angrily and kicks against one of the thick roots.

Since the moment, he and his large family arrived here in April, he attempted to hunt down an animal for his father; just to surprise him a bit and make him proud.

But unfortunately the animal's actions do not accord with the awesome plan he has plotted this morning.

Why doesn't the rabbit want to fight him?

François said that a rabbit once attacked him and he got his whole hand bitten. Therefore, he told him that is why he always wears his silky gloves; eventually he has got some terrible scars there.

"Something must be wrong about that... " He mutters quietly, "I even brought my sword! ... If it sees François as a worthy opponent, why not me?"

The fabric of his pants is wet and cold from the moisture. A nasty shiver runs down his spine as a gentle breeze against it. All of sudden he gets so cold that he just as well could have been rolling around in the snow. He quickly pulled himself back up and crossed his arms thoughtfully.

Again rustling in the brambles.

He petrifies and holds his breath fixing the moving leaves two feet away.

A broad smile creeps over his face, as the rabbit hops out and starts sniffing at the grass in front of his leather boots.

Noiselessly as possible the impatient boy frees his sword from his belt, focusing by biting on his lower lip.

On his cheek he felt a slight pain as an unexpected arrow shoots past his head and hits the small animal in front of him. Right in the eye.

Above him he hears a laugh.

Confused, he looks in the air, protecting his eyes with his free hand. He can recognize a boy on one of the thick branches. He is seemingly relaxed and holds a bow in his hand.

"Did you really think you'll get it so easy? Without a little patience?" Giggles the archer while wiggling his legs back and forth.

"What?...! " He answers in a grumpy voice, "Why patience? I just try to get what belongs to me...!"

Still laughing, the archer jumps off and lands safely with both feet on the ground. He has hazel, curly hair which he wears in a ponytail and green eyes, as dark as moss. The fabrics of his clothes are dirty and worn; the bright green color is washed out. But he exudes a rock-solid happiness nonetheless.

"With the sword….?", he asks with raised eyebrows, and points at the big weapon with his bow.

"With all weapons if it is necessary. I always do...! " Ostentatious he wiggles with his sword, grinning smugly.

"Oh? With all the weapons? With whom do I speak, that he has so many weapons? "

"Who you are talking to...? ... " He smirks and cannot prevent letting his voice drip out of arrogance as much as his wet pants, "I am Gilbert of Prussia ...!"

The Archer nods his head in disbelief and inspects him from top to bottom. He does not look like a noble child with his dirty, worn-out boots, where his sock is picking out at the toes. His knees and elbows are bloody, the material of his pants a bit ripped. His face is full of dirt, bruises and small cuts. Not to forget the small wound that the arrow left on his cheek. As big as the shirt is, it doesn't seem to be his own; maybe his father's.

"If you steal something, you should do it less conspicuous."

"I did not steal anything!" Gilbert hisses and flashes at him. Their eyes meet and the other boy notices something strange about it. He inhales sharply.

"What's wrong with your eyes? ..."

"Everything is just right with my eyes!"

"They are red! ... Your eyes are red![2]" He mumbles dumbfounded and comes closer to take a more proper look at the strange color.

"Yeah." Sighs Gilbert, with the bored tone he always has, when someone wonders about his strange appearance.

"That's not normal."

"Yeah."

"And your hair ...! How old are you?"

"Eleven."

"You're as old as me…Why is it gray?" The other boy asks curiously and studies all of the Prussians features, slowly moving his hand to touch the platinum blonde strands that shine like molten silver in the weak sunlight.

"It's not gray ..." Gilbert growls and slaps the hand away. He hates it when someone touches his hair.

"Well….whatever, Donkey...!" The other boy says, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, "You look really strange in any case."

Gilbert now notices a weak accent in the other boy's voice. It is not the usual German accent that he hears every day in this area, but neither a Russian nor French, which both also often lay in the air. He has never heard it before. The vowels are emphasized longer than usual.

When no further reaction than a deadpan look comes from the boy's side, he changes the subject.

"Uhm ..." Gilbert begins cautiously, "…Who are you?"

"Eli. " The archer fires back so fast that the Prussian almost jumps.

"I- ….I've never seen you before...! Do you live somewhere around here? "

"S- somewhere?" Eli replies quizzically. He doesn't know the word, but tries to make the best of it, so it does not stand out, "Yes, um, somewhere Hungary."

Then he smiles and holds out his hand to the Prussian who looks at him suspiciously.

"There's something wrong with you, honestly... " Gilbert raises one thoughtful brow," Why should I shake your hand? You stole my rabbit."

Eli immediately withdraws his nice gesture and crosses his arms.

"What?! That's not true! It was not yours! You didn't even get it before me! " He complains furiously, pointing with his foot at the dead animal," Is it your or my arrow inside the rabbit?"

"I own this piece of land, I own this forest. So I also own the rabbit and the arrow, I guess" Gilbert brags and smirks with the left corner of his mouth.

"If you won't stop immediately with this 'Gilbert of Prussia-thing', you'll find the next arrow in your head!"

"We just met. You wouldn't hurt me."

"I would not? Have you noticed the cut on your cheek?"

"Yes."

"That was me."

"But you didn't do it on purpose."

"Why are you so sure about it? Maybe it's my job to kill annoying red-eyed boys instead of harmless rabbits."

Eli raises his eyebrows, Gilbert rolls his eyes.

"Bite me...!" He hisses and sticks his sword into its sheath.

"Then bite me, too!" Eli stretches out his tongue to him.

"Idiot!"

"Donkey!"

"Why did I even talk to you?"

"Why didn't I shoot you?"

Now they both stay on the small clearing with their arms crossed and growl at each other.

Gilbert scratches his chin.

"Would...would you show me how to catch a rabbit…?"

Eli eyes him doubtfully.

Did he just hear right?

In order not to grin from ear to ear, he pressed his lips together.

"What?"

"Can you show me how to catch rabbits?"

"I can't understand you."

"How to do it ...Catching a rabbit…" The Prussian repeats even more embarrassed and points at the little animal. In his cheeks he feels some uncomfortable heat, "Can you teach me ... please?"

A victorious smile breaks through Elis lips.

"It would be an honor for me, Gilbert of Prussia."

One moment later he was holding his stomach out of laughter and Gilbert feels his cheeks heat up all the more.

"S- stop mocking me ...!"

This time he can't hold back his anger and punches the Archers slightly. Together they then burst into a friendly laughter.

As the sun sinks slowly in her sleep it turns the yellow leaves fire red.

"It will be dark soon. We should go home. It could get dangerous…After all we have only ceasefire ... " Eli notices briefly and takes the rabbit," We'll meet tomorrow. Here. An hour after sunrise, okay?"

The Prussian nods approvingly.

"Don't you dare to be late!"

Eli smiles one last time and disappears in the bushes as quickly as a squirrel.

The sun is going down more and more. Going home seems like a good idea. Gilbert shouldn't stay in the forest for longer. It would be hard to fight through the thicket in the dark.

With strong, quick steps he rushes north, in the opposite direction of Eli and the opposite direction of Neudeck.

No house is waiting there for him, no town, no village, no warm fire.

In the north waits what he calls home.

* * *

[1] _Neudeck is the German name for this little village. The original Polish name is **Świerklaniec** (In English it would be spoken: shvierklaniets). (Today) It's a small town near my parents' hometown. You can have a nice walk in the park. It's worth a visit, really :D Said lake (it's quite large) and forest really exist; There is also a small castle, but I don't know whether I will refer to it. Back to our topic: Neudeck and surroundings fell in Prussias hands in 1742._

[2] _Red is a very, very rare eye color, if it occurs without albinism. This strange feature emerges through the influence of blood into the iris. In 2011, only 4 cases have been reported around the world. And Hima never said that Gilbert is an albino. It is stated that he has vertical heterochromia iridum. Since most of the Hetalia fandom seems very fond of Prussia being an albino, I'm sorry if you don't like this solution, but having Albinism would be a big problem in the 18th century. After all it is a genetic defect that not only changes your appeareance, but brings along health problems(like a very sensitive skin, myopia, photophobia and a lot of other possible handicaps- which Prussia canonly doesn't have, by the way). That's why I decided to just make him reddish eyes._

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**Author Note**

_Some character introduction in the next chapter, then the story will have its start ;D_

_Thanks to every one who read that much that he/she can now read this little message :3!_

_Reviews are very welcome!_

_Be reading you!_

_Bambily1996_


	3. The Eagle's offspring

_I own nothing except the plot_

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_If you have wondered why it's Francois and not Francis: François is the official French writing and in the europe of the 18th century, French was the trade and busyness language. _

_Just a little note at the beginning. Now have fun reading and thanks in advance!_

_- Bambily1996_

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**Chapter 1: The Eagle's offspring**

It is easier to guard a sack of fleas, than a hot-headed boy

- Prussian proverb

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**Prussia, Silesia, 28 August 1747**

Surrounded by a protective wall of earth the Prussian military camp is a small fortress among the green nothing around Bytom and Tarnowskie Góry. Hundreds of dark tents shine in the evening sun. Some are large, some quite small, some decorated with a flag. But the light breeze makes the flag flutter so weakly that its pattern is only barely visible. The dark eagle on white background, surrounded by two black stripes, dances up and down gently.

Around the little camp there is a great plain so the guards have everything in sight. Through dense, knee-high grass meager ways lead towards two close cities where the camp gets its forage from.

One to Neudeck which is merely a mile away, the other to Bytom that is about 15 miles south.

Gilbert staggers towards the always open gate that is guarded by one soldier on each side.

Horst and Cunibert.

The one is as ugly as the other is stupid.

The moment they see the boy stumbling in their direction, the brothers laugh at him in chorus.

Cunibert is the first to mock him. He is thin like a bayonet; his hair has the color of half-rotten potatoes, a yellowish brown. "So? Did you catch a rabbit for the old geezer?" He asks. However, he keeps his voice low so that said old geezer can't hear him.

"What makes you think that I was trying to catch a rabbit, _pissfroid_[1]?" Gilbert murmurs.

"Because you look like you bathed in horse droppings!" shouts the burly Horst and smacks Gilbert's back with such power that he almost crashes against the barrow that passes by. Just in time the platinum blond balances himself out and dodges it.

"At least I have to bath in shit to look like it…!" he growls, shrugging his shoulders a few times, because he fears that the punch might have dislocated his arms.

Horst's bawling echoes across the plane.

He is a bear of a man in his forties, without hair and hardly any neck. His beard is unkempt and the countless battles he fought in scarred his visage with horrific disfigures.

"Being a bit too smug, don't you think, you red-eyed rascal…?!"

Gilbert wishes he would be old enough to scare them with his words, like the Generals do, but Horst could support his elbows on the boy's head, if not thunder him into the ground with his sole fist.

Therefore, Gilbert only sticks out his tongue.

They stare at each other for a few moments, grins slowly forming on their lips, before they burst into laughter together.

"The one deploying you here must have been pretty drunk...!" Gilbert says, smirking, and shakes his head. Horst tousles his hair.

"It was your father, little friend…!" he grumbles friendly, and pats Gilbert's head, "Seeing him drunk would be a wonder. After all - "

"That's not true…!" Cunibert interrupts him and his brother throws an angry look at him, "Henry has deployed us here, you fool!"

"Oh, shut up! No one asked you! It was not Henry! It was the old man! I know it!" the ugly one roars and throws his hands in the air.

"But I'm sure it was Henry!"

"No one cares what you are sure of! As if I couldn't distinguish between Henry and his father!"

"...Who is his father?" Cunibert asks so casually that this information actually appears meaningless.

Gilbert steps back cautiously the moment Horst's face gets red spots out of rage. He stamps to his brother and whacks him over the head with the gun barrel. Then he takes the screaming Cunibert in a headlock and starts punching him. The usual proceeding.

As soon as Horst calms down, the boy comes a step closer.

"While we're on it... Do you happen to know where he is? My old man?"

After the brothers exchange glances, Horst pauses for a moment. Then, they shrug their shoulders at the same time.

"I guess he's in the tent. Just got to see him for a moment. He had a walk with that French guy." Horst answers his question, somewhat thoughtful.

"What...? François? He's here...?" Each muscle in Gilbert's body tightens. "...That's good... I have a chicken to pluck with him[2]...!"

"Stick to the rabbits, Gilbert. At the end, we'll have to tear you away from the birds again!"

"They provoked me..." He murmurs through a pout, thinking back to his fight with the geese. Remembering the strong bite one of them has given him, he winces a bit.

Nevertheless, after a few moments, a cheeky grin breaks through his lips.

"Well…You'll see…! Next time I'll get the rabbit!"

Both brothers laugh at him and Gilbert waves goodbye.

He passes the gate where the camp's evening bustle welcomes him.

Many soldiers are still strolling outside their tents.

During armistice, they have more time to take care of their families. Morning until noon, the company is drilled and trained, therefore they use the evening to spent time with their wives and children. If not, they go drinking with buddies. For usually they lack nothing; the king made sure that his brave soldiers can unwind properly between battles.

His tent is pitched up at the end of the "_breach_"[3] - that's what the soldiers call the broad road that leads to the camp's center. Alongside the breach stand the smaller infantry shelters. The position of each tent is designed so that - in spite of ceasefire - the camp is well protected in case of an enemy attack.

Behind the royal tent - which is about five times larger than the average soldier's - there are the higher military lodgings for all commanders and generals; as well as some empty space for the visitors to encamp.

Since war is almost over, they hardly get any visitors. But Gilbert can spot sky blue tents and white horses.

Gilbert knits his eyebrows. His good mood fades lightly.

Horst has already mentioned that François is here.

But why? Last time he eavesdropped and it was said the French would be marching westbound.

Three months passed since Gilbert saw him the last time. Sometime in April or May as the negotiations with Austria were running.

Those pitched tents give him a bad feeling about this.

There is something important happening. And Gilbert will find out what.

Without any more time-consuming thinking he rushes off.

While making his way through the trampled and muddy breach, Gilbert greets as many people as he can. He can determine each of the 8,000 men in the regiment and name them.

There is rarely someone who does not know him in return.

It only takes a few moments, before he stands right in front of the huge Prussian blue tent. Slowly he walks over to the tied horses, examining them from top to bottom. Their fur is bright white, their mane shines golden.

_Typically for François,_ Gilbert thinks, and rolls his eyes _...Even his horses were combed perfectly..._

Gilbert stares at them a bit longer, until he realizes that the animals haven't even half as much interest in him, as he has in them.

The men guarding the tent's entrance already throw suspicious glances at him. Unfortunately, those two are not loose like Horst and Cunibert, back at the inlet.

Gilbert and the answer to the mysterious appearing of the French are separated by two stubborn men and a curtain of thick fabric.

Just like always.

Two stubborn men and a curtain of thick fabric have never stopped him.

Therefore, today they would not either.

"I need to talk to my father. Let me through." Gilbert says in an indifferent tone and squeezes himself past the guards; but of course they push him back.

"No. Important stuff. We are forbidden to let anyone except the generals pass." Explains the smaller one, whose name is Siegfried.

"I don't understand. Why shall only the generals know what's important?"

"Because they are important. The army needs them."

"So then… Everyone else is not important?"

"Well, certainly less important." Siegfried sighs, bored.

"So you, too? If you are so unimportant, go away."

The other guard – a man called Werner - bites back a comment, as the boy continues to speak.

"Well, okay, I take it back." Gilbert gives Werner a short glance. "Siegfried is important. But you are not, Werner."

"What?" The guard suddenly snaps at him. "How can you say that I am less important than him…!?"

"Siegfried has just told me that you're less important," Gilbert remarks while keeping his voice innocent as possible. He suppresses a triumphant grin as Werner turns to his colleague.

"Is that true?"

"No. No, Werner, it is not."

"So you say!"

"Ask the boy! He can-"

But the boy slipped into the tent, where the dim darkness of the conference room swallows him immediately.

Only a few weak oil lamps illuminate the room. Muffled murmur is heard from every corner; everyone is delved in the conversation. Gilbert can barely catch sight of the dark ebony table in between the countless coats. About two dozen generals have gathered: Not only Prussians in their dark blue coats, but also French in their bright ones stand around the table with the map worked into its wood.

King Frederick sits right at the head end. Some grayish blond strands fall into his old face.

As he suppresses a yawn, his features get even more tired. He sits back in his favorite chair and sighs instead.

Then, his face gets some more wrinkles, the moment one of the French places the characters on the map towards Denmark.

"We can not attack Hanover or the areas around the English. That would be suicide. Haymish Kirkland has never lost a battle." The king says without any noticeable emotion.

"You did not either, _votre majesté._[4]" Comes the answer.

Gilbert instantly recognizes the voice: It's François Bonnefoy's. He is the young general who leads the French cavalry. His charming and always upbeat voice with the strong accent makes it easy to make him out within hundreds of men.

As quietly as possible, the boy creeps in his direction while listening the interesting dialogue.

"That is irrelevant." The king states, unaffected, "I am very glad that we were able to stay out of his way until now. Partly I can thank my skilled generals, partly Kirkland's hatred for France. If we send troops to the West, the Russians will take the opportunity to get involved in this war; just before it could finally have an end." Old Fritz rises from his leather chair while he continues talking, "It would prolong a new war that would weaken us. We would lose our threatening position in the Concert of Europe."

"It needn't be the Prussians, who attack the English. My men would attack the British without instruction. If necessary, I'll ask for Spanish support. After all their conflicts at sea Commander Carriedo would gladly join me, I guess. The English are very confident in their current condition. But now we have the great chance to surprise them and maybe give Prince Kirkland [see *] a punch into his arrogant visage."

Without a word, the two stare at each other. The king lets the words travel through his trained brain to find a possible vulnerability.

"I presume -"

"That's stupid ...!" A clear voice interrupts their conversation

Everyone suddenly gazes at Gilbert, who clutches the edge of the wooden table with both of his hands. To have a close look at the map, he must stand on his tiptoes.

"Gilbert...?" Old Fritz stares at him blankly. He does not know what to say, after all his failed tries to keep the boy from his war conferences. Not even the guards can prevent him from things he puts in his stubborn little head.

"Father..." He replies in the same stunned tone and grins.

The Prussians start laughing, and even a part of the French men giggle. It's such a normality seeing the boy here that they can't hide their smiles anymore.

But the king needs only one glance to silence all of them.

Fritz stomps towards his son who climbs on the table quickly; soiling the map with his dirty boots.

"Gilbert!" He shouts, but the boy is not impressed by his old man's wrath, "Get down...!"

Old Fritz tries to grab him, but Gilbert dodges and another part of the map gets dirty, right after he accidentally kicks away some of the carved figures on it.

Gilbert won the fight; he glares at his father.

"Why don't you want to attack the English?!" He growls. "François said he could easily defeat them with the Spaniards' help...!"

"That's not true, my boy." Fritz holds a hand to his forehead, as the boy crosses his arms.

"Why do you spend the whole day in the tent then, when you actually don't want to do anything? And…By the way..." The boy points at a specific point on the map with the tip of his boot, "Doesn't Hanover belong to the Holy Roman Empire? Since when is it English property?"

"Way too long...!" François mutters, but no one except Gilbert hears it. Fritz sighs loudly. The situation is too complicated to explain it now in front of all the generals, who just wait for the boy to leave the conference.

"That's not so easy...!" The king holds out a hand to his son. "Come down...!"

"No...! Explain it to me." Gilbert insists and doesn't move an inch, "I've got to learn anyways, right?"

Some of the generals murmur impatiently and Fritz apologizes with a quick gesture.

"If you don't teach me that stuff how am I supposed to fight in battles? I want to do something! I want be part of the discussions! And fight our enemies! I will-"

"You're doing nothing at first, _mon jeune ami[5]_...!"

François wraps his arms around Gilbert's small body and removes him from the table. Since his arms are disabled, Gilbert begins to kick around wildly.

"You damn traitor! Let go of me!" He yells at his captor, but François just laughs and keeps the wild animal in his arms, before turning to the king.

"_Votre majesté_, if you allow, I will take your son outside for a moment."

Although Gilbert kicks him where it really hurts, François brings forth a smile.

"I'll talk to him. Once you are done here, you can come out to talk to your son. "

Fritz nods quickly and turns to his generals. Together with the unruly child, François leaves the tent.

* * *

Outside, the sun has already disappeared. Mosquitoes and fireflies buzz around and the air is warm and fresh. François puts Gilbert in front of him and gets a kick against his leg.

"If you hug me again… I- I…swear...!" The boy takes a deep breath, but manages himself not to curse. His anger towards François vanishes the moment his friend crouches down next to him and smiles. Suppressing a wide grin, the boy shows him the middle finger[see *]. Gently the Frenchman's hand embraces Gilbert's fist and lowers it.

"This is something one doesn't show a Frenchman, _mon jeune ami_. If your father sees this, you'll get even more in trouble than you already are."

Curious François raises Gilbert's arm and gazes at the graze on his elbow.

"Was that my fault?"

"Yes...! Because of you landed in the dirt several times, Frog!"

"Pardon," He smiles a little gleefully, "That wasn't my intention, Gilbert."

Offended the boy's lips sharpen and he growls at him.

"I'll be here a while." François takes off his hat, which had been resting on top of his blond locks, and puts it on the boy's head. "I'll make up for it, _d'accord_[6]?"

"_D'accord...!_" Gilbert mutters and François' blue eyes look at him warmly.

Behind them they hear Fritz coming through the curtain, breathing in deeply. The late summer fresh air revives his old bones and he instantly feels rejuvenated by a few years.

"_Merci, Général Bonnefoy. Pouvez vous partir._[7]" The king thanks him briefly and the French general bows. Behind Fritz' back, he shows his younger friend his middle finger. Gilbert grins as François disappears in the tent and winks at him.

But his slight chuckle becomes silent as his eyes meet his father's. Cumbersomely the old King sits down to be on a par with his son.

"How many times have I told you that you must not just barge into my tent?" The king chides him. "Especially when there are visitors?"

"Very often...way too often..."

"Why do you defy me then?"

The boy crosses his arms; looking away and pushing his chin stubbornly.

"What do you even wear, son...?" Fritz sighs as he sees the torn and partly bloody shirt.

" …'taken from Henry's chest...!" Gilbert mumbles almost incomprehensibly.

"You simply took your uncle's clothing?!" The king relaxes a little in his position and makes a face of suffering. "Gilbert...! He is the ambassador of Prussia[see*]. His clothes can't look like that…!"

The boy shrugs his shoulder.

"Where did you get the cut on your cheek?!"

"…Arrow... 've met someone."

"And who shot towards you?!"

"…was an accident."

A little something catches the king's attention and he turns his son around once. Frederick takes out his sword from his belt and throws him another stern look.

"Had I not forbidden you from taking a sword with you?"

Gilbert groans bored and shakes his body impatiently.

"Yes...but...! Everyone here has a sword except me ...!"

"The women don't," says Fritz.

"I'm not a woman!"

"The children also don't."

"But I'm not some kid. I'm your son." It comes out more hurt than Gilbert intended, "…I just wanted to hunt down something for you…! I wanted you to be proud of me…"

The king's eyes get softer and he strokes his son's stubborn head. It is difficult for him to be angry at his son when his red eyes look at him with that mixture of dejection and innocent childishness.

Fritz drags his son towards him and hugs him tenderly.

"Gilbert, you're my boy. I will always be proud of you. No matter what you're doing."

Gilbert returns the hug, not any less affectionately, and then steps back. His father stands up.

"I still have a lot to do…" He says softly, "Go to the sickbay and get your wounds cleaned, son."

"…Will you have time to have a walk with me, dad…?" The boy asks shyly while biting back his grin. Again he feels his father's hand on his head, which gently ruffles through his soft hair.

"I will always have time to go on a walk with you, I promise."

* * *

_[1] In French, there is the word "pissenlit" (= piss in bed) for Dandelion, because it contains the active ingredient Taraxin (Taraxum officinale) with diuretic (and anti-inflammatory) effect, which was already known in the ancient medicine. In old French – until the 18 Century – it meant "pissenlit". In German it would be translated as Bettbrunzer, or Pissnelke. A "pisseuse" was a little girl and a "pissefroid" [= cold piss] a dumb man. So here it is an allusion to Cuniberts blonde hair and his stupidity. Why French? That clears up later._

_[2] "Ein Hühnchen mit jemandem rupfen" is a German saying. Literally translated it would mean "having a chicken to pluck with sb." the official English translation is "having a bone to pick with sb." But I couldn't use that one, because the answer wouldn't have had much sense then. __To put it in a nutshell: It's having to clear up something with somebody._

_[3] A breach is a gap which has been made to provide a quick attack. The name arose about the 17th century and comes from the French word "brèche". In today's warfare the word is used in a figurative sense as another name for "breakthrough"._

_[4] French for " Your majesty"_

_* Historical rectification No.1: Ruler of the Electorate of Hanover (or Electorate of Brunswick-Lüneburg) was the brother of the queen mother of Prussia; aka Frederick the Greats mother. But since the German part of his family and his English part of his family didn't get along well, he hadn't much contact with his English relatives. So his uncle is the ruler of Hanover, George II. (9 November 1683– 25 October 1760) He was the second king of the House of Hanover and the last British monarch who personally led troops into battle. Here he got substituted by Haymish Kirkland who is ~58 at this point of the plot (I made him a bit younger UwU). Maybe you see what I did here :D Bonnefoy fights Kirkland :D_

_[5] French for "My young friend"_

_* Nice historical fact: According to legend, showing somebody the middlefinger is a relic of the Hundred Years War. Since the middle finger was used for tensioning the tendon of the English longbow whose were used by - of course - the English who fought against the Frech. Showing a Frechman the middlefinger in this time period is like threatening to kill him._

_[6] Literally translated it's French for "Agree(d)", but in this sentence it's used as "Okay " or alright._

_[7] French for "Thanks, General Bonnefoy. You may leave now." (Frederick the Great had a deep passion for the French language and culture. For most of his life he has even refused to speak to German, all his texts and letters are written in French. Therefore, Gilbert, of course, also can speak French. Explains why he has offended Cunibert to another language.)_

_* Historical rectification No.2: Henry of Prussia was not the ambassador. I made him ambassador, because I think it fits to his character very much and it gave me more chances to a ductile plot._

* * *

**Author Note**

_I'm sorry that it took so long for me to update. Although I have vacation, I've been quite busy. The next chapter will be up faster, I promise :)_

_Thanks to every one who read that much that he/she can now read this little message!_

_I also thank Peridot Tears for her wonderful work as Beta, as well as Psyche Orihara, LordTaunis and LaurenYatsuba for their kind reviews :3_

_Don't be to shy for leaving reviews! They are always welcome /!_

_Be reading you!_

_Bambily1996_


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